The second man, still nameless, was humane enough to cover Jess with all their jackets, and blast the heater for extra warmth. He also pulled out three bottles of water from the trunk, allowing Mitch to drink a little, and administering the rest to Jess. Then Charley took over, binding Mitch’s hands behind his back and shoving him into the back of the car.
Mitch’s head swam once more, and with the loss of adrenaline, he became aware of his own aches and pains. There was nothing more he could do for Jess and himself but rest. He closed his eyes, and as the Cadillac turned onto I-76 heading east, he fell into exhausted slumber.
They drove nonstop. Charley and Neuman—as the other man was called—switched off the driving.
In the front of the car, Jess passed to easier breathing. Neuman kept her plied with water at least, and her body had stopped its shivering. She slept continuously.
They stopped at a rest area, and Mitch felt his hopes rise. If he could just get to a phone and tell Liz or Cagney or someone what had happened. And where they were going. Hell, where were they going?
But Charley escorted Mitch to the men’s room, not allowing any openings even as he untied him briefly. The best Mitch could do was stretch out his muscles as much as possible and ease the circulation back into his fingers. The dull throbbing in his head had begun to ease, though he knew he looked like a fright with all the dried blood on the left side of his face. He could use that to his advantage.
They stopped again, and still Charley didn’t let him out of his sight. The third time, however, Jess was conscious.
“Jeez, I can’t take her to the ladies’ room,” Neuman was whispering to Charley under his breath. “I mean, there are people here. How would that look?”
“Well I can’t take her, either.”
The two men stared at each other.
“Maybe we don’t let her go.”
“Charley, if she’s gotta go, she’s gotta go. We got eight hours of driving left. Don’t be stupid.”
“Can she walk?”
They turned to Mitch and Jess, staring at them both hard. “Can you walk?” Neuman demanded to know.
Jess, leaning heavily against the car and pale as a sheet, shook her head.
“She don’t look good.”
“She don’t look good.”
“If we’d have shot ‘em, we wouldn’t have these problems.”
“Charley, don’t be stupid.”
They continued to stare at Jess, who finally summoned a wan smile.
“Why can’t Mitch at least walk me to the door?” she suggested weakly. “I can handle the rest on my own.”
Charley puffed out his chest. “I’ll walk you to the door. Then you take care of the rest.”
Mitch looked at her sharply but couldn’t catch her eye. Leaning heavily on Charley’s arm, she began shuffling toward the bathroom. Few cars were around the rest stop, few people noticing as he pulled the heavy metal doors open for her, and using the wall for support, she struggled into the dark, dank interior. At the sink, however, a stooped-over woman with gray hair was washing her hands.
Jess went straight toward her.
“Ma’am,” she whispered urgently, her voice cracking with the effort. The woman didn’t look up, and finally Jess tapped her on the shoulder. The silvery head popped up, finding Jess’s reflection in the mirror with startled, watery blue eyes.
Jess looked at the aging woman, and began picking her words carefully.
“Look,” she said softly, leaning against the wall until her shredded thigh was apparent “I’m with the FBI, but I’m in trouble. There’s a man standing outside this door, a very big man, who hurt my leg. I have to go back out there, and I think he may kill me. Do you understand?”
The woman blinked her watery blue eyes and said nothing. Jess felt her hopes sink.
“Please, I don’t need you to do much. Just call the police. Tell them FBI agent Mitch Guiness of the Witness Protection Program needs assistance. We’re on I-76, eastbound. I don’t know where we’re going. Maybe you could get the license plate number off the car when we leave. Please, anything.”
Her voice cracked completely, and she slid down a little on the wall. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and she felt suddenly nauseous. God, she was probably going to get this sweet old lady killed, as well.
Then the woman began to move her fingers in sign language, and Jess thought she was going to cry. She closed her eyes, the sweat rolling down her cheeks in silent desolation. She didn’t know what else to do.
She was tired and scared and utterly defeated.
She turned, and crawled back toward the door. She was actually grateful for the support of Charley’s arm, and that only made her feel worse.
They stopped twice more but never could get a moment alone.
Eight hours of hard driving later, they were in northern New Jersey.
Charley shoved Mitch out of the car when they finally pulled up to the back of the nondescript house. Mitch stumbled once, then regained his balance. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even bother with a dark glance. Let Charley play bully. Mitch was saving himself for the real opponent.
Jess was awake, her brown eyes dull and glazed. She leaned heavily on Neuman, obviously unable to walk on her injured leg. Mitch watched her in growing concern, his jaw muscle tightening unconsciously. But then for one fleeting instant, her gaze swept up to meet his. He was startled by the clarity he suddenly found there. Then her glazed look returned, and she moaned softly as she stepped.
Mitch looked away, the small communication clear in his mind. He wasn’t the only one that knew how to play wounded sparrow. Damn, but she was impressive. He almost grinned, feeling suddenly rejuvenated.
The Ice Angel was back and in fine form. Now he just had to bail them both out of this mess.
The next thing he knew, they were face-to-face with Les Capruccio.
Les looked them both up and down as if dirt rags had suddenly been paraded into his living room.
“I don’t like you bringing them here,” he said flatly, addressing Charley and Neuman.
Neuman spoke up. “They said they had information for you.”
“Most likely they were lying in a vain attempt to save their own skins, you idiot,” Capruccio said, clearly bored. His gaze flickered to Jess, taking in her damaged leg and bruised face.
“You don’t look so good, sugar,” Les drawled. “But then I always told you you’d get what you deserved.”
Jess didn’t say anything, but looked at him with her glazed, expressionless eyes. This seemed to amuse Capruccio, and he rose from the sofa to walk toward her. Mitch had to consciously restrain himself as Capruccio reached up and caressed Jess’s face with deceptive tenderness.
Mitch forced his attention back to the rope binding his hands. Each time they’d retied it, it had gotten looser. Now, while everyone was distracted by Jess, he had his perfect opportunity.
“Nice haircut,” Les whispered silkily. “But then, I never much went for brunettes.”
Jess didn’t respond. If anything, she sagged heavier against Neuman, who had to shift suddenly under the change in weight.
“You lose, sugar,” Les told her with one last Cheshire grin. “I go free, and you die. You weren’t worth much anyway. Hell, you weren’t even worth it in bed.”
He turned sharply away, his dark eyes finding Mitch.
“Nice try,” Capruccio said, buttoning up his silk suit as he straightened his shoulders. “But I have my own contacts, Mr. Guiness, and I probably know more about what’s going on in the program right now than you do.”
He turned away, already heading for the doorway.
“Kill them both,” he called out casually behind him.
But just as he was about to step from the room, a bullhorn suddenly interrupted the silence.
“This is the police. Come out with your hands up.”
Les pivoted sharply, his face turning a mottled red. “You fools,” he hissed fiercely to his men. “You led us all into a trap.”
With a roar of rage, he reached inside his jacket for his gun.
Mitch didn’t wait. Giving his hands one last vehement tug, he barreled into Les.
“Run, Jess!” Mitch yelled. “Get out now!”
A shot exploded, both Mitch and Les crashing to the floor. Charley and Neuman danced at the edges, guns pulled but denied a clear target. Jess pushed herself forward, grabbed the nearest lamp and slammed it down on Charley’s head. He crumpled to the floor, even as Neuman whirled and fired his gun. Her leg gave out, and she toppled off-balance in time to hear the bullet whiz by her ear.
Dimly, she heard the front door splinter open, then the sound of more gunfire. Neuman staggered back, red blooming across his chest. But then she caught sight of Charley’s gun, sliding across the floor. She scampered toward it, clutching it desperately.
Another shot rang out, ceiling plaster collapsing upon them in a choking cloud of dust.
“Everyone freeze! Now!”
Jess came to a halt and Mitch instinctively paused. Les used the moment to abruptly catch the larger man with a clean uppercut. Mitch staggered back on his knees, Les coming up in time to find himself confronted with seven police officers bearing guns.
He froze, his beady eyes darting around the room in desperation. Quick as a whistle, he dropped back to his haunches.
“One move and she’s dead,” he announced abruptly.
Jess looked confused; then her eyes suddenly rounded as she caught sight of the small .22 caliber pistol now pinned on her from his ankle holster.
Without thinking, she pointed her own gun right back at him.
“One move, and you’re dead,” she said quite clearly. Behind her, she heard the police officers shift uncomfortably. She kept her gaze focused on Les.
Les laughed, but his own expression was no longer so sure as his eyes darted around the room. “Jessica, I’m serious.” He cocked the gun.
She responded by cocking her own, and pinning him with her cold arctic eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mitch slowly positioning for action. She held the gun steadier.
Les’s smile began to look very forced, his eyes suddenly on the cops in line behind her. “I will kill her,” he reiterated. Abruptly he smiled at her, a sickening sweet smile. “Come on, sugar,” he cajoled. “Set the damn thing down before you hurt yourself. I know you never liked guns. Do they remind you of your father, little Mary Morgan? Do they remind you of when he fell dead at your feet?”
Oh, he was good, Mitch thought, balancing on the balls of his feet. Mitch had never wanted to hurt a man like he wanted to hurt Capruccio right now.
Jess, however, never wavered. No sign of emotion flickered across her face, no tremble in her arm gave away the strain.
“I’m going to count to three,” she said calmly. “At the end of three, I’m going to shoot you, Les. One.”
“Put it down,” Les demanded again, but this time his voice wasn’t so calm. He’d always hated how she could look at him like that, as if he wasn’t anything but a cheap suit who could take her body and never possess the rest of her. “The minute you so much as flinch, you’re dead.”
“Two.”
Les’s eyes went wild. Mitch could feel the growing desperation in the man, and his own muscles grew tense with the strain. Any moment now, any moment.
Les stepped forward, the sweat now noticeable on his brow.
“Come on, sugar,” he tried again. “You can’t shoot me.”
He took another step forward, and for just a moment, Jess hesitated.
And suddenly, little Mary Morgan did see her father, his eyes rounded in surprise as he dropped at her feet. And she saw Darold arching back, and Jamie and Bill sitting sightless at the base of the tree. She saw all the blood and destruction, and felt the cycle snap shut like a trap.
She leveled the gun, her finger pulling back on the trigger, and she understood her mother all those years ago. The only option left was death.
“No, Jess!” Mitch’s voice cracked through, Les’s head swiveling toward the sound even as her finger jumped on the trigger. The gun exploded in her hands, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air as the .357 Magnum jumped to life. She heard the dull ringing in her ears, and felt the dim sensation of tears sliding down her face.
Les crumpled to the floor, two blooms of crimson suddenly appearing on his chest. His gun dangled lifelessly from his fingers, and two police officers immediately stepped forward. Mitch waded through them easily, grabbing her up in his arms.
She clung to him, the tears flowing like a river, and felt another police officer remove the gun from her fingers. She cried harder.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Mitch whispered against her hair. “Your bullet’s in the floor, Jess. It’s in the floor. The cops got him, okay? The cops.”
She tightened her hold on his neck and wouldn’t let him go.
Epilogue
“A
pproximately one hundred and ten people die a day in motor vehicle accidents.”
“For the last time, Andrew, she’s not going to die. She simply needs a lot of rest.”
Jessica’s eyes fluttered opened to find herself staring into the thick-lensed gaze of a little boy. His blue eyes blinked rapidly.
“You’re alive,” he declared.
“Oh, dear.”
The boy was pushed aside, and a woman took his place. She had long, mahogany hair that swept forward when she bent down, and she possessed the most striking pair of midnight blue eyes that Jessica had ever seen.
“Don’t mind Andy,” the woman said, her voice soft with a Carolina drawl. “He just likes his statistics. How do you feel?”
Like hell, Jessica thought, but her mouth was too dry to form the words. The woman seemed to understand and held out a glass of water. She helped prop up Jessica’s head so she could drink.
“Mitch?” she croaked out finally. The young boy was back, staring at her with inquisitive eyes.
“Mitch is asleep, too,” Andy replied. “Liz chained him down so he couldn’t bother you.”
Jessica’s eyes flew open, her gaze finding Liz in time to see the beautiful woman’s face turn red. She laughed somewhat self-consciously.
“I didn’t actually chain him down,” she assured Jessica. “I just locked him in. Though knowing Mitch, he’s probably found a way around that by now. But honestly, honey, he was pacing this room for three days straight, and it wasn’t doing either of you a bit of good.”